As I sat on my deck, I heard a piercing sound slice through the morning air. It took a moment to recognize it–the cry of a wild goose. Only one? Where were his friends and family? Had he gotten lost on his trek to warmer places? Tree limbs were between me and the goose and I couldn’t see him, but I certainly heard him. He sounded like he was asking a question–where are you? Where’d you go?
I feel sure he must have found the V he was supposed to be a part of. And, if he didn’t, maybe he attached himself to another gaggle of geese that like the ponds and creeks in this area. Though his voice sounded lost in the vastness of sky, I was glad to hear it. In spite of all man’s turmoil and and trouble, nature continues in its everlasting cycle. Seasons change, autumn comes, and the wild geese still make their twice yearly journeys.
It’s amazing how animals know when and where to go through the year.
You’re right, Morgan. It’s a mystery to me.